Click
by sapereaude13
Summary: Persona 3. "You guys knew each other for...well, yeah. Uh..." Junpei is avoiding meeting his eyes. "Guess I better pay respects to the family?" - Akihiko/Mitsuru, postgame. Warning: character death.


It's strange to see Junpei without a baseball cap.

"Hey man," Junpei says, hands in his pockets. "How ya doing?"

"Been better."

"Right, yeah, I know. You guys knew each other for...well, yeah. Uh..." Junpei is avoiding meeting his eyes. "Guess I better pay respects to the family?"

He shrugs. "Well, there's just an aunt and uncle, the man with the goatee over there..."

"Ah, I see them. Yeah. Well, uh...good to see you again."

"Yeah."

Junpei wanders off in the direction of the family while he fumbles with some of the sushi on the tiny plate. He can't really make the chopsticks work today. The priest has already chanted, and the family's offered incense, so he could probably take off without looking disrespectful. He can see Yukari and Fuuka sitting together and talking with the family as Junpei walks up. He watches the girls rise from their seats to hug Iori, and he tosses the plate and chopsticks in the trash bin that's been carefully placed beside the food table to not be distracting.

He collects his coat from the foyer of the penthouse. There's a maid there waiting with a basket. She hands him an envelope, a gift thanking him for coming, and he shoves it quickly in his pocket before heading out the door.

–

"Inoperable," she says, guiding his finger to just above her temple, a finger width from where she used to aim her Evoker.

He jerks his hand away. "What do you mean inoperable? Your family has hospitals, access to the best doctors in the world. You can't tell me there's nothing that can be done."

She's calm. Almost too calm. "I only regret that you and I did not..." She hesitates briefly, pulling the blankets up to cover them. "I wish we could have realized our feelings sooner."

He closes his eyes. Idiot, he thinks. He loved her in high school. In high school! And now, when things had finally lined up, when she'd finally taken over at headquarters here in town, when she'd finally let the board help her run the company, when he'd finally stopped living only for his job...

Mitsuru slides closer, manicured fingernails tapping anxiously against his stomach as her red hair pools over his chest. "It's not like you to give up," he tells her.

She dares to chuckle at that. "It's not something that can be knocked out with a punch or stabbed with a rapier."

He holds her tighter, pressing his lips to the top of her head. "We'll see."

–

Aigis is standing outside of Mitsuru's building. There's a misty rain, and he bites his tongue before asking her if she'll rust out in the open or something. "You are going?" she asks him.

He leans against the stone facade. "Yeah, working the night shift tonight."

She looks at him curiously. "Is there no bereavement period for officers?"

There is, but he's not taking it. "Trying to catch a bank robber. Need everyone we can get." That's not true either, but if her processors are detecting the lie, she isn't calling him on it.

"Amada-san has exams and has already departed."

Thanks for the update, he thinks. He doesn't feel like hailing a cab. He probably doesn't have much money left on him. He dumped most of the contents of his wallet into an envelope and presented that to the family earlier – whatever yen he has left is in the departing gift from the Kirijos.

He turns to walk. His apartment is only a few miles from her building – he'd moved in as close as he could as soon as he'd heard she was moving back to Japan. Her neighborhood was a little out of his price range. "Stay in touch, Sanada-san," Aigis requests, and he doesn't respond, mingling with the crowds and umbrellas.

–

She's perched on his desk, folder in hand when he gets back from lunch. He shuts the door, tears the folder away and kisses her. When they first started dating, he liked running his fingers through her hair. But knowing that _it_ is there, lingering somewhere underneath all her pretty hair is enough for him to keep his hands on her cheeks, on the sleeves of her blouse, on her pantyhose-clad leg.

She has to push him away. Too much seems to make her dizzy now. Whatever pain medication they have her on isn't helping, and she's trying to mask her discomfort. "Thought I'd take a long lunch. We closed a deal with Iwamura Electronics this morning, so I think I deserve it."

"You do," he says, placing a hand on either side of her. She's surrounded by folders of missing persons cases, homicides...and the one he's tossed aside. He moves away from her finally and picks it up from where he'd thrown it. "You found this, huh?"

She slides down off his desk and straightens her skirt. "I don't believe that is a good use of department resources. You should be looking for dangerous robbers and killers, not brain surgeons. Not oncologists."

He sighs. "Did you even read it? I mean, it's experimental, sure but..."

She silences him with a finger to his lips, using her other hand to slide the folder from his grasp. "Akihiko, no. Don't do this, okay?"

He moves away from her and sits down in his desk chair, booting up his computer. "Fine. I have work to do."

"I don't wish to fight with you."

"I'm not fighting," he replies, grabbing his stress ball and squeezing it like he wants to throttle that damn thing that's killing her.

She places the folder in her briefcase. "I'll read it."

"That's all I ask," he answers, pretending to stare at the department intranet. He hears the office door open and close. Akihiko waits until he can't hear her heels over the noise in the squad room before throwing the stress ball against the window with all his strength. It doesn't crack.

–

His apartment looks like a typhoon's come through, but cleaning hasn't exactly been a priority the past few nights. He tosses his mail on the table and grabs a beer from the fridge. Sitting down, he flips through the envelopes. Bill, bill, take a sip. Ad for a new ramen place down the block, bill, take a sip. Envelope from Yukari. He takes another sip and rips it open. A sympathy card – she hadn't said anything at the wake, but it seems that she knew. He sets it down and grabs the beer again.

Another bill, sports magazine, another envelope...but the handwriting. It's Mitsuru's. Even though the hand was a little shaky upon writing, it's still better than his own scrawl. He takes a good long sip before opening this one. It's dated over a week ago – in fact, the day before she...

A little bit sentimental for Mitsuru of all people, but he leans his chin on his hand and reads it. No salutation...very unlike her.

_I'm having my assistant forward this to your address. If you're reading this, then I'm no longer with you._

He wants to crumple it, take it and Yukari's card and throw them out into the rain, but he keeps reading.

_A few months ago, you handed me a folder with information about a certain medical procedure. Enclosed is a photograph of Chiyo Takanaka, age 7, from Misawa in Aomori Prefecture. _

He finds a tiny school picture of a girl with pigtails inside the envelope.

_Takanaka was afflicted with the same condition I have. Using the information you provided, the Kirijo Group has paid for a successful surgery. The little girl has been given a healthy prognosis, all thanks to your efforts researching the work of Dr. Wanizuka. Her family requested your address, and with your permission, they wish to express their gratitude. I have also enclosed their contact information if you..._

He sets the letter down. Finishing the rest of the beer, he tosses the can in the garbage and goes straight to bed.

–

She's too proud to die in a hospital bed, even a private one owned by her family. She receives hospice care in her penthouse apartment, and she's leaning against her pillows with paperwork in her lap when he arrives for the night.

He sets down the carton of rice on her bedside table, and she crinkles her nose. "Green Dragon again?"

"It's your favorite," he reminds her, opening the carton and dumping some onto a plate. He grabs a bit with chopsticks and holds it out. "Open."

She scowls at him. "Not hungry."

"Open."

Mitsuru moves the papers aside and allows him to feed her one tiny bite. "Any more, and I'll be sick."

He sits patiently, feeding her a bite every few minutes until she looks exhausted from the effort of chewing. "I switched shifts with Ogawa. I'm not on till tomorrow afternoon."

"Do you ever miss fighting the Shadows?" she asks suddenly, drawing her knees up under the blankets and leaning forward onto them.

"Truthfully?" he inquires. It has been almost a decade after all. He sets the food down and sits back against her headboard, letting her lean against him. "I miss it a lot."

"Do you think that's why you became a police officer? To keep fighting?"

He shrugs. "Guess you could say that."

Mitsuru's hair falls across him again, and the vibrant red is starting to lose its luster. "Looked into the information you gave me. My doctor says I'm too weak to try the experimental procedure."

It feels like getting knocked back, hit with a load of bricks, something like that. "Oh."

"I never took no for an answer back then, did I?"

He doesn't know what to say. He never knows how to respond to her any more...not without sounding foolish. "You haven't changed, Mitsuru."

"The bottom drawer," she mutters.

Without a word, he opens the drawer and pulls out Mitsuru's Evoker. He gives it to her, hoping his hand isn't shaking. She accepts it calmly and presses it to her temple.

Click. Click. Click.

She hands it back, as she does every night, and he sets it back in the box and returns it to the drawer.

She relaxes against him for a few minutes before she has to vomit up the food from Green Dragon. He calls in her private nurse and spends the rest of the night sleeping in a chair just outside her bedroom. He's just starting his shift in the afternoon when he gets the call from some underling at the Kirijo Group. It happened that morning, not even half an hour after he left, but they called everyone in her address book alphabetically. They only got to 'S' by 4:00 PM.

–

Somehow, during the night, he'd wandered back into the other room and grabbed Chiyo Takanaka's photograph. Laying in bed, he presses his finger to the photo, right above the little girl's temple.

"Click," he murmurs out loud.


End file.
